“If we’re reasonable about it.”

“And if we aren’t?”

“Then we pay lawyers for a year and nobody gets any pie.” She cut a slice and set it on the bare counter, no plate.

“We only want to handle this like reasonable adults, sweetheart.”

The slice gave off steam.

I picked up the fork.

Richard found me in the living room at noon with his checkbook open on his knee and his reading glasses slipped down his nose.

“Look,” he said.